


Not a Home

by waterbird13



Series: Tumblr Fics [111]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Author does not support what he says, Emotionally Abusive Parenting, Gen, John Winchester skeptical, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, John's POV, Pre series, angsty, one mention of physical abuse, sam leaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7734832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You walk out that door, don't you ever come back."</p><p>How John saw that night.</p><p>(Author may write John, that does not mean they like him).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is another piece from Tumblr.
> 
> Warnings: This is pre series, when Sam leaves for Stanford. John is a terrible parent, I consider him emotionally abusive and he mentions slapping Sam at one point. It is John's POV, just because I found it interesting to explore. Obviously, it's angsty as fuck.

It’s not like John didn’t know _something_  was coming. There’s always something brewing, with that kid. Dozens of people, hunters cross-crossed the country, have tried to give him advice, most of it conflicting and all of it crap. John knows what’s up.

His youngest is trouble, that’s it. Has been since the day he was born, really. 

It’s five letters left purposefully on the motel table and defiant eyes, a bag packed and within arms reach of arms that have really gotten too long recently, and John’s not sure when that happened. “What’s this?” He demands.

Sam’s eyes, if possible, grow more defiant, like he’s got an endless well of the stuff inside his veins. “You know what it is,” he says. “I know you can read.”

They all start with _congratulations_ and end with _Stanford, Brown, Yale, Columbia, and NYU._  John knows what they are. He swallows.

“So you think you’re abandoning your family?” he snaps.

“I think I’m going to take care of myself for once, because god knows no one else will do it for me,” Sam snaps.

“We’ve sacrificed _everything_ to take care of you!” John snaps once more, thinking of his oldest, off to the side, stunned, quiet, whose childhood was too short, too busy mourning his mother, too busy raising his brother when John couldn’t be there.

Sam snorts. Reminders of sacrifice usually quiet him, at least a bit, but he doesn’t stop. “Gee, thanks,” he says. “I appreciate being raised to die for your cause so much.”

“Your mother’s cause,” John says.

“Mom’s dead,” Sam shouts. “She’s dead and I didn’t know her, she died and it’s sad but you can’t tell me any half-decent mother would want this!”

John reels at that, wants to strike his boy, barely restrains himself. A quick slap hasn’t diffused anything with Sam since he was eleven.

“So you tell us like this?” John sneers, looking at the pile of letters.

Sam sneers right back, the look marring his face, ugly, unnatural. “Like it’s easy to share anything in this goddamn family,” he says. “You never want to hear anything. Well, here it is. I’m going to fucking school. I got in. On my own. Full ride, too. I’m going to be something. Be safe.”

John bristles under the accusations even as he knows that it’s hard to talk to him about things outside hunting. Sam shouldn’t want things outside of hunting. This is the mission. This is the job. The life.

“Fine!” He snaps. “You walk out that door, go! You walk out that door, but don’t come back!”

Sam freezes for half a second, but then he grabs his bags and his letters, and walks with determination. “You know,” he says when he’s at the door, “That might be a more affective threat if this was a home. But I’ve never had one, Dad. Ever. I’m walking away from a motel room, and you guys’ll leave tomorrow, and then we’ll all be in the wind. There’s nothing to come back to,” he says, and then he walks out.

Dean chases after him, like he’s broken from his stupor. John worries momentarily that he’s lost both sons, but Dean comes back forty-eight minutes later. His face is set in a grim line, he’s alone, and his eyes might be a little red. Neither of them mention it. Neither of them talk about anything for three days


End file.
